Doubt
by Child of Loki
Summary: Danny Williams is having some doubts about himself and his partner... Pre-slash Danny/Steve
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own **_**Hawaii Five-O **_**or its characters…**

**Author's Note: So this is the first slash (more pre-slash) fic I've written. It's also the first one I've written for Hawaii Five-O. I've caught an episode here and there, but just started watching it from the beginning (and am currently only mid-season one). And I'm not sure why this fic idea came to me or why I couldn't shake it. I often wonder what exactly draws me to certain characters, and I'm guessing it's their personalities and how they interact (chemistry?)... Or it's just completely random. **

The therapist was a woman. Not that he had anything against female doctors. Normally, he'd probably prefer talking about his feelings with a woman... Just a man thing he supposed. Men not wanting to show vulnerability in front of other men. Or maybe not, considering how often he got into arguments and discussions with his partner about how he was feeling about whatever crazy dangerous activity they were currently in the midst of. But at the moment he was feeling very insecure to be sitting before a rather pretty woman, especially with the nature of his psychological dilemma. He studied her, concluding that yes, Dr. Jennifer Randall was quite beautiful, with a curvy figure filling out a pencil skirt and silk blouse, dark hair pulled up into a messy bun, her full mouth set in a soft, encouraging expression, and her large amber-colored eyes staring speculatively at him, yet not aggressively. Everything about her body language invited him to open up, but still he just sat there and stared at her.

"I'm all for allowing a patient to begin in their own time," she said, her tone passive. "But you're the one who set up this appointment, Mr. Williams, and unless you tell me what's bothering you, we are wasting your time..." She smiled. It was a friendly, warm smile. "...which I'll still be charging you for."

He shifted in the overstuffed chair, leaned forward, tenting his fingers together.

"Okay," Danny said. "First of all, it's Detective Williams."

She inclined her head. Having a doctorate, she likely understood the importance to self identity a hard-earned title lent.

"But you can call me 'Danny." He smiled at her, and she returned it.

"Secondly, this isn't easy for me." He sighed, his leg involuntarily twitching restlessly, his shoe making a vibrating noise against the wood floor.

"Maybe you can just get me into the correct ballpark," she said. Did she somehow glean that he played some ball in his past? He narrowed his eyes at the head shrink, trying to read the woman trying to read him. She seemed be doing a better job of it. "Is it something work-related? Detectives are exposed to some very traumatizing experiences. Or is it your personal life?"

"Um..." Danny leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms, realized how defensive a posture it was, and consciously forced his hands onto the arms of the chair. "Both, I guess. Well, the work side of it is that my partner's completely nuts and is probably going to get me killed."

"Have you discussed this with him?"

"Oh, all the time," Danny said. It was one of his favorite topics, really, when he admitted the frequency in which he admonished Steve McGarrett for his reckless behavior.

"And you feel he's not listening to your concerns?"

Danny scoffed at the thought that Mr. Navy Seal would ever tone down his Rambo-style out of concern for his partner's finer feelings... not that fear of death was considered by anybody but McGarrett to be a 'finer feeling' and thus inconsequential. But for all his bitching and complaining, his attempts to keep his partner grounded, Danny knew the man had his back.

"Well, no. I mean, he shrugs it off or harasses me about it. But I think he's well aware that my greatest fear is leaving my daughter fatherless. And when it comes down to it, my partner is probably the best man to have watching your back."

The lady therapist nodded, scribbled a note.

"So your relationship with your partner isn't why you're here, today?"

He shrugged. She had to put it that way...

"Yes. And no." He picked at the stitching on the arm of the chair. The professional was right. He was paying for this after all, to have some stranger sworn to secrecy listen to him unburden himself. He hadn't been sleeping well. He'd even lost his appetite over worrying about this whole messy situation, all the doubts he'd been flooded with... it was like his world had been turned upside down.

"The man is the best partner I've ever had. Hell, he's the best friend I've ever had." _Don't stop now, Danny._ "But something happened a few days ago that's got me so mixed up, I don't even know who I am anymore."

When he was silent for a few seconds too long, Dr. Randall spoke up.

"What happened, Danny?"

He had been playing what happened over and over in his head a thousand times in the three days since, and it'd been driving him absolutely insane. It didn't help that his partner was a complete impassive stone on the subject. Not that Danny himself would ever, _ever _bring up the subject. With no active cases, they'd been sort of successfully avoiding one another at any rate, holed up in their offices doing paperwork. But he supposed he wanted to face it, which was why he was currently sitting in a shrink's office.

He swallowed down the knot in his throat.

"Well, we'd gone out for drinks, like usual after closing a case. And as per usual, I ended up paying..."

_They'd somehow drunk more than usual, however, stumbling out of the bar laughing, heading towards the car and then Danny realized how intoxicated his partner was as he made for the driver's side door. He grabbed the big man's arm as he reached for the latch, which was probably a mistake. Never make a quick grab for a Seal, former or not, drunk or not. He had Danny slammed up against the Camaro with his back to the door, throwing up his hands in passive protest._

_"Hey...whoa, whoa, buddy. Jus' wanted to point out the fact that you're slightly too inoxi-intock- _drunk_ to be drivin'," Danny managed to slur out his point. The aggression had immediately dissipated as the taller man realized there'd been no real threat, and now he grinned drunkenly down at his partner._

_"Good point, Danno," he said, his breath smelling strongly of whiskey. He stepped back, and began to smooth down Danny's shirtfront that had gotten all rucked up in the extremely brief tussle. "Sh'rry bout your tie."_

_Steve paused, holding said tie in his hand, leaning down to examine it more closely._

_"Why do you shtill wear thish thing?" he asked, glancing up so that he was staring his Jersey-souled partner directly in the eyes._

_"Because. I like it." Danny reached for the garment to tug it out of his inebriated partner's grasp. "What'syour obsession withit, anywaysss? What'sitmattatoyou?"_

_"Makesssyou look uptight," Steve said. His eyes were very blue. Danny must have noticed that before, but he didn't often have call, or even opportunity to look the man who stood over a head taller than him in the eye. "Think I'll make you, take it off."_

_He leaned in further, squinting to focus his eyes as he fumbled to further loosen the Windsor knot at the base of Danny's neck, which he himself had already loosened in the bar as the heat of the alcohol had reached his face. Steve looked up, his blue eyes surprisingly intense and clear for a drunk man, effectively killing the protest on Danny's lips. The partners stood staring at each other, intimately close and uncomfortable in a strange sort of way, as Danny leaned with his back against the car, his much larger partner leaning over him, one hand placed on the window beside the small detective's head, whose heart was pounding in his chest and he didn't know why. Steve smelled of whiskey and that unique, pleasant scent that Danny had harassed him to discover what he used, whether it was aftershave, cologne or deodorant, but never to any success. And then the man's other large, strong hand settled firm on Danny's neck, the thumb resting on his cheek, and... and..._

"He kissed me," Danny said quietly, feeling his cheeks flush red. He glanced at the therapist, to see whether she was about to placate him, to say it wasn't his fault, that he couldn't have known his partner felt that way, that he should discuss it with him, tell the man that he didn't feel the same. But she said nothing, perhaps sensing there was more. And there was.

"And I kissed him back."

Steve's mouth had pressed determinedly upon Danny's, an aggressive contact he would've expected from the man, but then it gentled, allowing the detective to return it, to meet the engagement halfway. And god help him, he had. Steve's lips were startlingly soft, and he'd tasted of whiskey. By the time the embrace -for it had surely turned into one- had come to a natural end, the bigger man held his partner's face in both of his hands and Danny had tight fistfuls of Steve's shirtfront twisted up in his, pulling the tall man down, keeping him at his level as he'd thrust his tongue into his partner's warm, flavorful mouth, tasting of the earthy alcohol with a hint of vanilla. Oh fuck him, he'd tasted good.

"You're worried starting a personal relationship will affect your working one?" the therapist asked.

"What? No." Danny gave her an exasperated, helpless look. "I'm worried that my entire life this far as been a lie so elaborate that I never realized I was lying to myself."

She gave him a confused look. And then realization flashed across her face, and she smiled a little before schooling her expression.

"Are you mocking me?"

"No. Not at all," she said.

"Well, doc." He took a deep steadying breath. "Am I... gay?"

"I don't know." Her face was an impassive mask. "Are you?"

"No!" He said, perhaps too quickly, too defensively? "I like women. I've loved several."

She nodded, completing his thought for him. "But you kissed your male partner, your best friend."

"Yeah."

"And you enjoyed it?"

He ran a hand over his face, leaned forward so that his elbows rested on his jittering knees, stilling them.

"Yeah. I think I did." He sighed. "So that makes me homosexual, doesn't it?"

Now the therapist did laugh. He gave her a 'what the hell?' look. Did she often laugh at her clients, because that seemed counterintuitive to the 'safe and nonjudgmental environment' she claimed to create. He narrowed his eyes at her.

"I'm sorry, Danny," she said. "It's just, your crisis isn't unique. It derives from the commonly held belief that human sexuality is black and white. An individual either likes men or women. Heterosexual or Homosexual."

"Are you trying to tell me I'm one of those ones that likes both?"

She smiled again.

"No, Danny. Maybe you are bisexual, but that's not what it sounds like to me. Human sexuality..." She noticed him flinch at the word 'sexuality', probably realizing that although he just admitted to kissing his male partner, he hadn't come to terms with any actual 'sexual' attraction he may feel towards the man. "Affection, attraction... like with all characteristics, lie along a spectrum. I believe that you like women, that you find them physically, sexually arousing. But that's not the only thing that attracts people to one another."

He was desperately trying to follow her explanation, trying to understand, because it sounded as if she was saying that he wasn't a gay man closeted so deeply that he himself hadn't realized it, or that he hadn't just changed overnight... that he wasn't a freak for switch-hitting for a minute or two.

"You mentioned a daughter?"

"Grace. She's my entire reason for being," he said, not even remotely embarrassed by the pride he took in his little girl.

"I take it you had a relationship with her mother?"

"Yeah. We were married for over six years," he said, wondering where this line of questioning was headed.

"Very few marriages are based entirely upon physical attraction. Of course, it had to be there in the beginning, in at least a small amount, if not a greater one, but you probably found that the more you got to know her, the more you were attracted to her, emotionally and sexually."

Danny just nodded, thinking that no matter how he talked about his 'witch' of an ex-wife, he had liked her, loved her, and not just her good looks. She was tough, no-nonsense, sometimes domineering and stubborn, passionate and determined. When she got something into her head... _oh, shit. _

"You're saying I'm attracted to a certain personality type," he said, realizing how scary similar Steve McGarrett was to Rachel. Type A personalities... why did he like to be around them? They drove him absolutely, blood-boiling crazy, for fuck's sake.

"Exactly, Detective Williams," Dr. Randall said. "This behavior is not an aberration for you, an indicator that you've lost your mind. In fact, it seems to be precisely consistent with a man as loyal and affectionate as you seem to be."

Loyal and affectionate? Where had she gotten that? Not that he would dispute the compliment. God, Steve had always held that he was overly sensitive. Would he be the woman in a relationship between them?

"And no, you're not less masculine than any other man, than you were before, just because you're attracted to another man."

"You're scary good," he said, closing his eyes, and adding, "Okay, what number am I thinking of?"

"I take it by your sarcastic joke, that you're feeling better?" she asked, amusement curling the corner of her mouth, despite the admonishing tone in her voice. Danny felt like he wouldn't mind kissing that mouth, and didn't feel like the fantasy was a lie. He still thought women were sexy and alluring, still thought about doing naughty things to them. He just happened to also be attracted to his male best friend, his partner, a man he worked with every day, and admired greatly, who was just as straight as Danny was -used to be. He groaned, putting his face in his hands.

"What am I supposed to do?"

"I would suggest talking it over with your partner, discuss whether you wish to pursue a romantic relationship."

_Romantic_? Steve McGarrett and he, Danny Williams? It was ludicrous. He almost laughed as he pictured them, going out to fancy restaurants together, or having a candlelit dinner. No. A romantic relationship was not for them. They would just have to figure out a way to still be friends and partners.

"I think the 'ignore that it ever happened' tactic is what we'll be opting for," Danny said. The therapist's dark pink lips pressed into a thin line.

"I wouldn't advise that. Without resolution, an encounter with such implications as a more-than-friendly kiss can strain a relationship, even and especially a close friendship. I'd be worried about how that could affect a partnership between police officers, who rely upon one another with their lives and the lives of others."

"Duly noted, doc." He wasn't convinced. He had absolutely no intention of openly discussing anything so embarrassing with his partner. Maybe Steve didn't even remember it, kissing him, passing out in the back seat of the taxi with his head pillowed on Danny's thigh.

"If you're both determined to simply put it behind you," she said with a frown. "Then you could just blame the incident on the alcohol and hope it doesn't happen again. But from what I've heard and seen today, it's my belief there is something deeper in your feelings for your partner, and it could be harmful for you to repress it."

"Well, I appreciate your professional opinion, Dr. Randall," Danny said, rising to his feet, simultaneously relieved and desperate to avoid further discussion of feelings than necessary, especially feelings he didn't want to be having. "But we'll probably be going with the 'really drunk and really stupid' explanation."

She, too, rose to her feet. Her skirt hugged a perfectly enticing hourglass figure, inviting a brief consideration of what the curve of her waist and flare of her hips would feel like beneath his palms, which in turn brought to mind the feeling of his partner's large, strong hands on his own waist, clinging to him out of more than necessity as he loaded the muscular (and heavy) drunk man into the back of the taxi, and half-clambered, half-fell in himself.

"I hope you figure things out, Detective," she said, holding out her hand. "If you ever need to talk again, I'm here."

"I'll keep that in mind, doc."

Not that he didn't already have too much on his mind...

**A/N: Hopefully not too out of character (well, besides the hints of slash that is obviously non-canon). Maybe I shall play with them again, sometime. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: I wasn't going to, but yeah… (still season one universe, since that's where I am in the marathon)**

* * *

Before he quite knew what he was doing, Steve McGarrett was placing a hand on his partner's knee in an unconscious attempt at stilling the jittering leg. It'd been driving him crazy, the only thing disrupting what was otherwise an extremely pleasant mood he had going. And wasn't that just the perfect summation of his friendship with Danny Williams? The man could be so completely aggravating and yet he'd never been more comfortable with another human being in his entire life than he was with the mainlander detective. Not even with his brother Seals. He'd always distanced himself emotionally, likely stemming from the whole remote father issue. Sure, now he knew his old man had only sent him away to protect him, but that didn't change the fact that for most of Steve's life, he'd felt alone. _Independent_, he used to like to think. It was a good way to be. Even when working with tight-knit teams that he trusted with his life... he'd never trusted anyone with his emotions. He'd always kept up certain barriers. But then he met Detective Daniel 'Danno' Williams, an in-your-face haole with absolutely no concern about personal space. He'd had no choice but to let the man in... because he was just going to walk right through the front door, anyway, maybe with a courtesy knock, maybe without.

He felt the muscles in his friend's leg tense beneath his palm, and Steve remembered that it was the man's bad knee... wasn't it? Yeah. That must be why he'd gone all rigid. Absently, he gently rubbed the vulnerable connective tissue with his thumb, and Danny seemed to relax slightly. On the television screen, Peter Falk tricked the perp into a confession. They only argued over who was Estrada and who was Wilcox if they watched _CHiPs_. And _Charlie's Angels _brought up the classic 'which Angel is the hottest' debate, so they settled on Columbo with their pizza and beer night. (Besides, Danny was obviously the deceptively brilliant detective.)

Honestly, after that awkward incident the other night, Steve was surprised Danny hadn't called off their ritualistic Thursday hang-out. It was entirely out of character for the man not to tell his partner _precisely_ how he was feeling, to play it Steve's way, tight-lipped and internalized. There was no way the detective wasn't completely flipping out in his head, even if there was no outward manifestation of it. Maybe, like Steve, he'd chosen just to ignore that it had ever happened. And it would've been easy for Steve to just shrug off himself, conclude that he'd gotten really, really trashed and done something insane, and leave it at that. It, unfortunately had happened before. Not the kissing another man thing! But there was a certain tattoo that made Steve regret those vodka shots that one time in Minsk. He would've just walked this off, too, suppressed it, called it an intoxicated moment of insanity, but he'd been thinking about it nearly constantly the past few days because it hadn't just been him.

Danny had kissed him back.

But why had he done it at all, kissed the man in the first place? Because he had been feeling really good, drunk, but really happy? Happy because his friend was both funny and fun, warm, affectionate, loyal, and he loved spending time with him? Because he'd smelled of a light, musky aftershave? Because the slight detective had been staring at him with those expressive, half-lidded, bedroom eyes of his?

Maybe it'd been all of those reasons. And maybe it'd been none. Maybe he'd never know, because they'd never talk about it. It never happened. Maybe Danny had been too drunk to remember...

Steve knew he should remove his hand from his friend's leg, but if he did it too hastily, too quickly, the detective, who was so good at reading people, would know something was up, maybe even know what he'd been thinking about, about how Danny had tasted of the bitter beer he'd been drinking and some intriguingly spicy undertone, sort of like nutmeg. Would he taste the same now? How about when he hadn't been drinking beer? Why hadn't he reacted negatively to being kissed by another man? Why had he kissed him back, grabbing Steve's shirt and pulling him down closer, slipping his tongue into his mouth in an embrace that could be called nothing less than passionate?

Why had he liked kissing the small yet fiery detective? He'd never, ever, considering kissing a man before, or checked one out, or been attracted to one. Steve liked women, a whole helluva lot. They were beautiful, engaging, sexy creatures. He daydreamed about kissing them all the time, and acted upon it quite a bit of the time, too. Especially with a certain Navy lieutenant.

Maybe Danny was right. Maybe he was too impulsive by nature.

He hazarded a glance at his partner, his closest friend, only to find that Danny was staring at the stupid-large Navy Seal mitt resting on his small, muscular thigh. And then the detective's gaze lifted, meeting Steve's steady one.

Impulse control.

He had no impulse control.

Absolutely none.

But here, again Danny was kissing him back, full force. So, it couldn't be all his fault, now could it? Oh, god, the nutmeg again. And was that a hushed growling noise Danny was making? Or was that him? And when had they shifted on the sofa so that he had the smaller man lying on his back, with a surprisingly strong hand locked on the nape of Steve's neck, pulling him down so that Danny could plunder his mouth with his tongue?

Fuck. The man knew how to kiss. There was a limit to what two people could do with just their mouths, right? There just weren't that many variations and tricks to an oral embrace. At least, that's what Steve had always thought, but hell, Danny was kissing him in a way he'd never experienced before. He thought he'd always been pretty good with the ladies, but none of them would've ever said anything if they _did_ think Steven McGarrett was a lousy kisser, now would they?

Except, he couldn't be that bad, if Danny hadn't ended -and showed no sign of ending- the embrace.

Impulse control. Definitely a problem. It felt just too damned good for Steve to continue trying to actually think while he -well, frankly- _made out _with the spirited detective. Instinctively, his body responded as it usually did, seeking out control, trying to dominate his partner, pressing down slightly, letting his weight partially settle on top of the body beneath him, his hands capturing, his mouth moving on from lips, finding other skin to taste. Danny's stubble was an interesting texture against his lips, his tongue. His skin was warmer than any of the women Steve had ever kissed, but responded in intriguing ways, familiar ways that coaxed him further. Skin was skin. Bodies were bodies. He found Danny's carotid lying beneath the hot skin of his neck, his heart beat solid and rather rapid as Steve began to suck at the pulse point.

There was that growling noise again, and this time he was pretty damned sure it was from the slight detective, who had dug his fingers into the back of Steve's neck and shoulders in an encouraging sort of way. Instinctively, Steve worked his knee between Danny's legs as he let himself become lost in the taste of the man's mouth once more. Because it was something he normally did when in the throes of a rousing make-out session, he rubbed his thigh against his partner's groin, an indication, an invitation for escalating matters. It earned him a low groan, but then Danny was pulling away, his hands firmly pushing against Steve's chest as the smaller man scrambled out from beneath him.

Steve immediately obliged, withdrawing to the opposite side of the couch from his friend... his friend with red, kiss-swollen lips. And the livid pink precursor to a hickey on his neck. And eyes gone alarmingly large with shock, as if he'd just woken from a trance to realize that... well, that he'd been making out with a man. And not just any man, but his friend and partner.

_Damn._

What the hell were they doing?!

"What the hell are we doing?!" Danny echoed Steve's own thoughts perfectly, throwing his hands up in the air and then beginning to gesticulate as he spoke rapidly. The man talked with his hands. And he talked a lot. Steve liked the quirk, but tried not to grin, because his friend was obviously having some serious issues at the moment. "I like women. And you have a girlfriend... sort of... whatever that whole deal is... But anyway, she's female. And I'm pretty sure you have sex with her..."

Danny paused, locked eyes with him. "So why do you keep kissin' me?"

The accusatory tone sort of pissed Steve off, because it was easier to become distracted by outward anger than to deal with his inner confusion... and the embarrassing, uncomfortable aroused state of his body.

"Why do you keep kissing me back, Danny?" he said. "Or look at me like you want me to kiss you, for that matter?"

"What?!"

"You keep giving me bedroom eyes." Okay, he could see the man was getting worked up into a good lather, and to be perfectly honest, it amused Steve to no end when he got all bent out of shape. On this subject, he probably shouldn't tease, but god, he loved the feisty side of the little man.

"I do not."

"You do," Steve fought the grin. "You've got a serious case of bedroom eyes, Danno."

"Okay, fine." The gesticulating became sharper, but at least he no longer seemed as anxious or alarmed as before, as they fell into a familiar rhythm of bickering. "Whether or not I have 'bedroom eyes' is not relevant to your constantly sticking your tongue in my mouth, without invitation. And no, perceived 'bedroom eyes' are not, in fact, a legitimate invitation for such a violation."

"Oh, so you're the victim, here?" Steve laid the sarcasm on thick. "Because I'm pretty sure you've got it backwards about who's sticking his tongue in whose mouth first."

Danny made an exaggerated gesture, as if he were swatting the idea away.

"That's not what I'm saying," he said.

"Oh, it isn't?" Steve crossed his arms and stared his partner down, finding that the argument they were having wasn't doing anything to dissipate his feeling of arousal. He'd experienced this sort of thing a couple times before, when he was dating especially fiery women. The more personality they'd shown, calling him on his shit, giving him attitude, the more he was attracted to them, aroused by them. Apparently, he had a thing for impassioned, effusive personalities.

In an obvious, although it perhaps was subconscious for the man, employment of mirroring, Danny crossed his arms and stared back at Steve. Huge mistake. Don't ever challenge a man with an ingrained alpha male complex. It got his blood up quick, the staring contest, but with Danny... the adrenaline flooding his veins wasn't telling him to kick the smaller man's ass. Because Steve admittedly liked him, infuriating though he could sometimes be. No, his confused instincts were telling him to do _something else._

But Steve wasn't sure exactly what. He didn't want to have sex with another man. Not when he thought about what that entailed, when he stepped back and impartially considered it. He didn't ever fantasize about Danny's compact, fit little body, about his... _parts_. But when Steve was kissing him, when he was in the midst of the man, his senses inundated with him, his scent, his warmth, his words, that growl, his taste... He wanted to make him moan and groan, wanted to please him, to -to pleasure him.

Did Danny see that in his eyes? Because he did the worst possible thing he could do to diffuse the tension between them. He licked his bottom lip contemplatively.

Steve hastily got to his feet, turned his back on his friend, rubbing the nape of his neck and pacing slightly. If he even looked at him right now... God, why was he suddenly so attracted to the detective? Why did he like him so damned much? Why did Danny's fierce loyalty and unwavering sense of right and wrong make Steve want to shove his tongue in the man's mouth more than a pair of perfectly round succulent breasts compelled him to do so to a woman?

"Hey, Steven." He turned back to find a much more relaxed looking Danny Williams sitting on his couch. "Could you just sit down? The pacing is makin' me dizzy. You're like a ping pong ball or something."

He gave his deceptively calm partner a critical look before sitting down beside him, turned slightly towards the detective, but trying not to look too directly at him, lest his impulse control fail him once more. But, oh, there was definitely a hickey forming on Danny's neck.

"Okay, I'm sitting," Steve said. "Now what?"

"Now... now we talk about this like adults, which we are," Danny said, apparently thinking he was taking the high road. Steve wondered where the high road led, and whether it was to a similar place that they'd already visited twice now.

"Okay. Okay." Steve nodded his head. They could figure this out, couldn't they?


End file.
